La Danse Fatale
by PhantomPanther
Summary: An unexpected encounter with the famed pop-star who had fallen so violently from grace turns out to be an interesting twist of fate, dooming her sedentary life as she now knows it. Nothing will ever be the same.  Malik x OC.
1. Chapter 1

Ramen, nori, rice, salmon, green tea, tofu, plum wine, Coke, chocolate, soy sauce, chilli sauce, fish sauce…fish sauce. I scrolled down my grocery list on my iPhone, knowing there was something I had forgotten – namely, fish sauce. I was going to attempt to make wok-fried chilli-bean cod tonight, and fish sauce was a vital ingredient. Slowly, dressed in my sweats, slippers and comfiest hoodie (its Sunday, I have an excuse), I found my way back to the aisle where I might find said fish sauce, and found the product I was looking for. I swivelled this time in the direction of the checkouts, and almost stopped dead in my tracks, going slightly slack-jawed. No more than ten feet ahead of me, stood a well-known celebrity, famed throughout Japan.

There could be no mistaking the wispy crown of platinum blonde hair, creamy tanned skin and tall, muscular physique. He stood out amongst the many other shorter, scrawnier Japanese men in the aisle, I noticed, and towered above the women. It had been a while since I'd seen him, and frankly I thought he had gone underground some years ago since the scandal that had broken out and brought his career to an abrupt end; so, naturally, I was surprised to see him.

Malik Ishtar – or simply _Malik_, as he had come to be known as – turned his head in my direction, and I felt my heart compress. I hadn't seen him in the flesh since high school, almost five years ago, now. He had always been popular at Domino High, excelling in everything, but his passion was for the arts. He had had an unreal talent for singing and playing the piano, and was perhaps the most unbelievable and beautiful dancer I had ever seen perform. He frequently appeared in the press, performing in theatre productions around Japan and even in some music videos for J-Pop superstars and hip hop artists from the west. The Japanese Ballet Company begged time and again to have him on their set, but he'd declined.

He had gone from strength to strength, and before the final year of school was out, he had signed a record deal. From then on, he'd exploded onto screens with catchy pop and hip-hop beats, belting out melodramatic ballads, breaking teen girls' hearts the world over. Being that he was Egyptian, he became a sensation in the Middle East, as well as the Far East. The songs he wrote spoke to the female agenda, mostly, singing about such hot topics as sex, love, eloping, and the like. When interviewed, Malik had spoken of his idols being among Michael Jackson, Usher and Chris Brown, and as such likened his own music and moves to theirs.

His rise to fame had included a controversial, on-off relationship with a female J-pop star known, also, simply as _Yumi_. Yumi was more or less the female equivalent to Malik, and so they gelled, but the relationship was also volatile, if tabloid fodder was anything to go by. She was like the Japanese version of Paris Hilton, with a string of broken engagements and affairs in her past as long as the Great Wall. She, too, was idolised, and desired by the majority of the young male Japanese population. They were the golden couple of the nation – until _that_ fateful image made it to the media.

Yumi had been on tour in the United States at the time, when Malik had apparently become caught up in a three-day bender with other pop-stars that began at an awards after-party, including the usage of alcohol – far too much of it – cocaine, strippers – and boys. A photo of Malik getting hot and heavy with an unknown young man of around the same age had appeared on a social networking site and spread like wildfire around the internet thereafter. Several other images of the binge had surfaced, including the star snorting lines and posing provocatively amongst a pile of scantily-clad women.

Needless to say, the images didn't go down well with the public, his recording label, or – most of all – Yumi. His fall from grace had been spectacular, but Yumi's popularity had subsequently skyrocketed. She'd been the subject of pity for months afterward, and Malik's name had more or less become a dirty word. He went underground for a long time – some say he went back to Egypt to go into hiding for a while. Eventually the public forgot about the scandal, and it seemed he knew better than to try to make a comeback. His life as he had known it was over.

I stood, slightly taken aback, and absurdly surprised that I was standing agog in the middle of a supermarket aisle with this former pop-star when everyone else seemed to be turning a blind eye. Or just didn't know who he was, anymore. Malik's career had crashed and burned almost two years ago, now. I shivered when our eyes connected; he had the most stunning lilac eyes – one of the most striking features about him. I wondered if he would remember who I was; we had been in a few classes together at school, and had spoken on numerous occasions at social events like dances or movie nights with friends. It had never been anything more than that, though. We had only been acquaintances.

He lifted one hand in a greeting gesture and gave me a little smile. My heart rate quickened as I returned the motion. My legs automatically took up pace in his direction.

"I know you from somewhere, don't I?" his voice was still smooth, unmarred, like liquid gold.

I swallowed. "School."

"Of course. Sable, right?"

I nodded, and involuntarily burnt up a little. Damn my nonconformist, hippy family and their ideas about names. "It's been…quite a while, Malik."

"Since what?" his brows knit together.

"Since we've seen each other…" I trailed off, suddenly realising that he thought I was talking about his career.

Recognition came to his face. "Oh! Right, yes, you're right about that. High school…wow. Long time ago." He chuckled a little.

"I…I didn't know you were still in Japan," I charged on, seeing he was probably a little embarrassed.

"I came back just a few months ago." He said. "And as you can see, no one knows who I am, anymore, really." There was slight chagrin to his tone as he gestured to the oblivious passersby in the supermarket.

I felt slightly awkward. "Do you want to maybe, grab a coffee, or something?"

His brows relaxed. "Sure. That'd be nice."

Author's note: This is kind of just an intro. I don't know really where this idea came from, but somehow Malik tends to make a good celebrity in my mind. He just seems to possess the traits and qualities for superstardom, even though this story centres around his life after his career. Hope you enjoyed this – I may post more if I get good feedback. ^^


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

We walked to a café that was near the seaside, shopping bags in hand. It was an overcast winter's day, and not many people were around. We strolled down the pier to the café at the end and sat down at a table inside. I looked out the window at the dreary grey clouds rolling across the horizon. Malik asked me what I wanted to drink, so I told him. As he returned from getting the bill, there were a few giggles from the waitresses and baristas behind the counter, and a few snide whispers here and there from other customers. Apparently, not even his nondescript grey hoodie with the hood pulled up and run-of-the-mill green cargo pants with chucks on his feet could hide the fact that he still looked every inch the pop-star he used to be. Despite this, nobody approached him.

"What have you been doing since school, Sable?" he asked, apparently ignoring the passing comments.

"Trying to hold a job," I replied with a nonchalant shrug. "It goes alright, for now."

"Are you still dancing?"

I cast my gaze downward. "I injured my ankle…it hasn't recovered all that well."

"And that's stopped you?" he appeared puzzled.

"For now," I mumbled. "It's been hard, you know, getting back into it."

"Has it healed enough for you to try?"

I nodded slowly. Why all the questions, I wondered? "More than likely, I just haven't tried. It hurt too much the last time." I declined to mention that my surgeon had told me that it was unlikely I would be able to dance the same as I used to before the incident.

He sat back in his chair and exhaled. I got the impression he wasn't pleased with my indifference about my dancing. It wasn't exactly a priority in my life right now, but I knew how passionate he was about the arts. Perhaps I should have appeared to be a little more optimistic about the situation.

"You were good, you know." He commented after a while.

I tried to think of something to change the subject. "I do freelance writing, though, as well. It never earns me much, but it's nice to be recognised, when I do."

"That's cool. I'd rather not be recognised, myself, now." he replied, looking down, bringing his elbows together on the table. "But I still am, sometimes. And not in the greatest light."

"You made it really big." I commented. I was also morbidly curious to ask why and how he had gotten caught up in the bender that had spelled his fall from grace, but bit back my tongue.

"I got way too caught up in it," he replied. "The fame…it gets to you. It makes you forget what's important."

"And… what _is_ important?"

He looked up, then. "Family. And friends, _real_ friends." He said. "When you get sucked into the celebrity world, you think you have friends. You think those people you associate with are your friends. But they're not. It's all…such a sham. Nothing is real, in that world, but when you're in it, it seems like it is."

I understood what he was saying, but I couldn't possibly know. I'd never tasted fame before. "Why did you come back? After what happened…frankly – and I'm sorry for saying this, but – I didn't think you'd ever show your face in Japan again."

A wounded look came to his eyes. "Cairo was getting too much for me. Sure, Egypt is my homeland, but it's not _home_. Japan is. My career is over, the scandal is over, people have moved on. So, I came back. I've made my money, and now I'm comfortable." He shrugged.

I mumbled an apology and sat back as our coffees arrived. He had certainly made his return to Japan discreet, I gave him that much. Nobody had heard anything about him coming back – that I knew about, anyway, and I worked at a bookstore, which also sold trashy gossip magazines. The waitress gave Malik the glad-eye before leaving. I snorted. He laughed.

"What are you doing these days now, then? Surely you must be doing something. You're so talented, Malik. It would be shame for it to go to waste." I was curious.

He smiled that unbelievably heart-breaking smile I once remembered. My schoolgirl crush on him made a cameo appearance in my mind and I burnt up.

"Thank you." He replied, obviously noticing my coloured cheeks. "At the moment, I'm helping other people to produce their music. I have my own company now and own a studio downtown; so far it seems to be going pretty well. I prefer to be behind the camera instead of in front of it, these days."

"That's great. I'm glad to hear you're doing something, anyway."

"You should come down, sometime."

I looked at him askance. "To your studio?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, why not?"

Stupidly, I didn't really have a reason to decline. "Alright."

He seemed faintly pleased with my response, then changed the subject. "So, you still talk to anyone from school?"

I nodded. "Yeah, actually, I do. Bakura and I are still good friends. I see Jounouchi and Yuugi, now and then, too. I don't see Otogi or Honda very often anymore, though."

Recognition leapt to Malik's heliotrope eyes. "Bakura…wow, I haven't seen him in years. He's still around, is he?"

"Yeah. I kind of thought he might go back to England, but he seems to like it here." I said, thinking of my white-haired friend. Both being ex-pat students, Bakura and I had gotten along like a house on fire at the outset.

"And what about you? Why haven't you gone back to Australia?"

I smiled. "Like you said…Japan is home to me, now."

Author's note: Since I haven't got a lot down on this story yet, I'm going to make the chapters short. Most of my stories are usually more like novels with lengthy chapters, but this one is going to be short and sweet, like cupcakes.


	3. Chapter 3

Phantom: Thank you for the reviews I've had so far ^^' this just happened to be a drabble that I wasn't really going to go too far with, but…why not? We'll see what happens =] Enjoy!

Chapter 3

xXx

Malik gave me his business card before we went our separate ways, and I also learnt that he owned a club in the city. The card wasn't to advertise himself, really, but more his music-production company. More than that, it was because he wanted me to come to his studio for some reason; I got the impression that it wasn't merely just so I could come to check it out, but didn't ask any questions. It was a white watermarked card, with gold-embossed writing on it, reading "Osiris Enterprises Limited". I wasn't all too surprised at the choice of branding.

"Come by some time. Maybe we could have a dance."

I felt myself go rigid. "What? Why?"

"I want to see you dance." He replied casually. "You say you haven't done it for a while because of an injury, and I want to see what you've still got."

My insides lurched. "You won't be impressed."

He grinned, showing all of his pearly whites. "I won't know until you come, though, will I?"

We made arrangements for me to come by later on in the week, one night after I finished work. He was working with a young woman who was an up-and-coming artist in Japan, but wasn't well-known yet. I had every confidence that Malik would change that. He mentioned that she was going to need backup dancers for her music video when it made its debut, but disclosed nothing more than that. I vaguely wondered if he was implying that he would like me to participate as one said backup dancer. We exchanged numbers, and I walked home that afternoon, shopping bags in hand, feeling oddly anaesthetized.

My encounter with my old schoolmate, dance-class partner and pop-sensation left me feeling muddled. I didn't know him particularly well, and hadn't really thought about him since high school – aside from occasions where I would see him in the media – but I had the unsettling feeling that that was about to change.

xXx

I had been practicing after work most nights that week, in my living room. I downloaded a heap of songs to put on my iPod that I hadn't listened to in a long time – songs that I used to dance to. It brought back memories, suffice to say, and inspired me. I tried to recall the dance routines I had practiced time and again for school and regional performances, and was pleased that the steps seemed to have memorised into my brain. I wondered, with a chuckle, if Malik would remember them, too. We had danced together on a few occasions, travelling as far as Tokyo and Nagoya for regional finals representing our high school.

Climbing up into my wardrobe, I pulled out a box of my dancing shoes, and opened it. A wave of nostalgia hit me as my eyes fell upon my best pair of ballet points, rose pink in colour with satin ribbons. I had practised a bit of ballet in my time, but didn't go as far with it as my freestyle hip hop dancing.

Malik and I both had a bit of experience in ballet, as I recalled, but it had been many years since I'd stepped up into my points. I sighed, cleared some furniture out of my living room – swivelling the couch around to use it as a substitute for a bar – and pulled the slippers on, tied up the ribbons, and walked around a bit, trying to get used to the motion after so long. I also strapped up my ankle, just in case.

I practised a few ballet moves, although my living area was a little cramped to be able to practise any of the more extravagant moves, such as a _grand jeté_ or a _fouette ronde de jambe_. I was genuinely surprised with myself that I remembered a lot of what I had been taught in ballet, but it was not where my passion lay. It was much more restricted than freestyle dance; perhaps the strictest of dance styles. I felt restrained, somewhat, and that often made it easier to injure, trying to achieve the utmost perfection that ballet was. It was how I had injured my ankle a couple of years ago, which had required surgery. Needless to say, I hadn't tried again, until now.

xXx

Friday night came around quickly, and I was nervous. I parked up my dingy little car in the parking lot outside the rather commercial-looking building – at the address Malik had given me – that I had expected it to be. The studio was located in the Chinatown district of Domino City, where a lot of international businessmen chose to go about their business, whether legitimate or otherwise. The smells of Chinese food stalls below wafted through the air, and I was grateful that I had eaten already.

Slamming my car door closed and slinging my bag over my shoulder, I headed toward the doors, and then up the stairs to the first floor. The windows overlooked the bustling night markets below, lit up in a maze of neon lights and glowing lanterns.

Inside, it was deceivingly spacious. The building didn't look like much more than an office or apartment from the outside, but it was rather accommodating, I had to admit. This was likely, I figured, being that Malik obviously could spare no expense.

I came to the end of a hallway with double doors. Printed on the doors was "Osiris Enterprises", once again in gold script. I pushed through them, only to walk into a huge dance studio with mirrored walls. My heart pumped quickly in excitement; I hadn't been into a studio as nice as this before.

Lights and speakers were affixed to the walls and ceiling contemporarily. Toward one end was a stage that was elevated from the main floor, with extra lighting mounted around and behind it. At the other end looked to be a recording studio. I saw movement behind the tinted glass, and then Malik came through the door. He was dressed simply in a white singlet and black track-pants with white street shoes on.

"You came!" he sounded surprised.

"Well, yeah, of course I did." I shrugged. "This is…" I shook my head, looking around, unable to find the right words. "It's real nice."

Unexpectedly, he embraced me. "I'm glad you're here; I didn't think you'd actually show."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "You didn't seem too enthusiastic when I asked you about your dancing, last week."

"I've had a change of heart." I replied with a coy smile. "I've been practicing."

"Oh yeah?" he grinned. "Why don't you show me?"

He walked into the studio for a moment. I took this as my cue to put on my dancing gear. Some music then came on – Cassie, "Me and You", if I wasn't mistaken. It was one of my best songs to dance to, at a slower tempo, which was good for warming up. Malik came back out and leant against the wall with one foot up, and crossed his arms. He cast an appreciative eye down my body as I began my routine.

The mirrors helped me to perceive what I was doing right and what could be improved. I couldn't help but hum quietly along to the music as I moved, flicking my hips, leaning against the mirrors, skidding along the floor, twisting and jumping. I hadn't realised how much I missed it, and slipped into a comfortable frame of mind with ease, shaking the nerves off.

By the time the song faded out, I had worked up a mild sweat, my skin glistening. My ankle ached a little, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. Malik had been gazing intently at me the whole time, and I wondered if it was in an appraising or ridiculing way. He smiled then and pushed himself up off of the wall and walked over to me.

"Nothing's changed. You've still got it."

"Oh…thanks! Really?" I was surprised. I didn't think I had done that well.

"Absolutely. How's the ankle?"

"Fine."

"Care to go again?"

I blinked. "Sure…if you want me to."

"I'll join in this time," he said, walking back to the studio to put on another song. 'Get Up' by Ciara soon began playing.

I was pleased with the choice of song; I had a routine for it, and Malik knew it, too – or, at least, I hoped he remembered it. I saw a glimmer of recognition in his eyes as I began bursting into familiar moves that seemed to come so naturally to me. He soon fell into sync with me. We had done this routine many times, to practice for finals at school, and it seemed we both remembered it step for step.

The routine required physical contact; it was actually rather sexualised, I had to admit, and felt a little embarrassed as we thrust our hips into each other, but it soon left as I got into my element. My black hair flicked him in the face and he placed his hands on my bucking buttocks as per the schedule. The final sequence to the routine consisted of him pulling me through his legs and then back out and, in the momentum of gravity, swinging me around and behind his own body so I landed in the front with my legs hooked around his waist, and we pulled it off seamlessly.

I sat there for a moment with my legs engaged around him, panting, sweating, and he the same. Suddenly, I laughed at the absurdity of be able to pull off the routine that I hadn't practised for so long, and climbed down from him after the song faded into nothingness. His grip was still strong on my waist as I lowered myself down, and the sexual tension in the air was almost excruciating. We smiled at each other and laughed it off, realising that nothing much had changed.

"What next?" he panted.

xXx


	4. Chapter 4

Phantom: Thank you for the reviews! I was inspired to continue this after watching the Olympics gymnastics…simply amazing!

Chapter 4

xXx

"My students could learn a thing or two from you, you know." Malik said with something of a glint in his eye.

I frowned. "Students?"

"I run a class here once a week. Aspiring dancers, trying to become professional."

"Much like ourselves," I smiled wryly.

"You know how it is." He grinned.

"I, uh…well, I brought my ballet shoes, just in case you wanted to see that, too."

It seemed as if the word 'ballet' had resuscitated something inside him that had long been dormant and his eyes bulged a little. "You still do that?"

"Well…no." I admitted. "But I still love it."

"It's been a _long_ time since I've done a ballet routine…What did you have in mind?"

"There's a scene from the Nutcracker that I know reasonably well," I replied, wondering if he could see my nerve. I wasn't as confident on my points as I used to be.

"Which one?"

"Dance of the Snowflakes," I told him, trying to sound convincing. "Do you have the music for it?"

He nodded. "I will do somewhere. I don't know the routine very well, but probably enough to do it with you."

"Its alright," I replied, smiling. "I don't know the whole thing either, myself. But I'll do what I can. And it doesn't require a male dancer for the whole length of it."

"Only if you're sure your ankle is up to it." He glanced at my foot dubiously.

"I'm sure."

"Well, alright then. I'll have to go and change, though."

I waited while Malik went out back to organise the music and to change into something more ballet-appropriate. I had to say I was surprised that he wanted to participate, or even that he would have ballet shoes on him. Then again, if he said he taught students in this studio, he probably had every kind of dancing accessory and prop there was known to man lying around here somewhere.

I did a couple more stretches and practise exercises while I waited, and then the music began; Tchaikovsky, if I wasn't mistaken. Malik came out a few moments later, this time wearing black tights and a loose white shirt, showing nearly every line of every rippling muscle in his thighs and calves. I had to restrain myself from overtly ogling him, not to mention the other parts of his anatomy that had become more obvious since changing his clothing. I cleared my throat a little and continued to warm up.

"Whenever you're ready," he smiled at me as the music climbed up to the part where I was to begin.

I began the agenda as best as I could remember it, and Malik danced along with me. It was graceful, and fluid, and I felt like I was dancing on air. Ballet could be the most beautiful, and yet the most painful, of all the dances. It was hard to make it look like you were enjoying yourself, I found, as so much concentration was put into it. Every movement had to be precise; there was no room for error.

We reached the part where Malik leapt along beside me, lifting me up into the air as I bounded across the studio with him. The final pose of the dance, as Malik and I knew, was the dramatic fish dive, or _pas de deux_. I went up in the air above Malik, supported by the strength in his arms, and came down fast, with one of his arms around my waist and one looped around my leg, so I was on a diagonal across his body facing the floor with my legs splayed out behind me.

The song dramatically came to its final conclusion at the moment I fell into position, and after a few moments, Malik placed me gently down on the floor. For the hell of it, I curtseyed him, and he bowed back. We chuckled.

"That was beautiful." He said, looking directly into my eyes, which overwhelmed me a little. The colour was spellbinding.

"Thank you. You were great, too."

"Why did you ever quit?" he asked, sounding truly baffled.

"I never really quit. Just didn't find the time for it, anymore." I replied. "Why did you?"

He shrugged. "Singing kind of took over my life for a while. After that whole fiasco a few years ago…I kind of lost motivation to do _anything_."

We sat down on a bench along the side of the room and sipped on our water bottles. There was momentary silence, but it was comfortable as we got our breaths back.

"Do you…ever talk to Yumi?" I couldn't contain my curiosity.

"Sometimes," he said. "It's a bit complicated. It's too hard to be friends with her, but I don't want to be _with_ her again, you know?"

I didn't, really, but thought better than to say that. "But you're happy without her?"

"Yeah, definitely. She was half the reason I got so out of control, I think. She was the one who introduced me to the drugs and the partying. God, I'm just a shy kid from Egypt who happens to love singing and dancing, underneath it all." Malik mumbled with a shrug. "I don't think the 'sparkling' celebrity world was for me. It really is just a filthy place."

I had to smile at that. "Well, I think you've come out the other side well, despite what happened."

We chatted for a while longer, and I put my cardigan on when I started to cool down. Malik showed me inside his recording studio. Once again, it was deceivingly large inside – it didn't look like much more than a side room from looking at it in the dance studio. I presumed that this was where he worked with up-and-coming artists. It had everything any modern recording studio would require – microphones, headphones, recorders, mixing boards, computers, synthesizers – you name it, it was here.

"Why don't you come along next Tuesday night?" Malik suggested, as I was leaving toward the door.

"To…your class?"

He nodded. "I might do a special ballet presentation; I think my students would like to see something different, for a change. That is, if you're keen to participate?" he looked hopeful.

I skewed my mouth to one side in thought. "What would you have me do?"

"Just what we did tonight, would be fine." Malik said.

"What's in it for me?" I grinned.

"_Complete_ adoration." Malik grinned back. "My students would love to see it; they would idolize you, I'm sure of it."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, right. But, alright, I'll come along."

Malik gave me a time, and our eyes lingered on each other's for a little longer than was necessary, before a courteous farewell embrace, and I walked swiftly out the door.

Exiting the building, I felt flighty and my insides were fluttery; what an effect that man has on me! Nothing like what I felt toward him at high school, anyway. What 5 years can do, sheesh…

Feeling giddy and a little more excited than was probably appropriate, I turned the music up and drove my crappy little car home with a big, cheesy smile, and sang all the way.

xXx

Phantom: don't quote me on the Dance of the Snowflakes; I can't remember exactly which scene that particular dance was from, but I know it is in the Nutcracker somewhere .' hope you enjoyed anyway! ^^;


	5. Chapter 5

Phantom: Eeeya! This is a long one, sorry people. And, apologies for not updating sooner. I wasn't really sure if I was ever going to finish this, but I seem to have had some inspiration lately ^^; enjoy! Reviews are of course appreciated!

Chapter 5

xXx

"Alright everyone, before we get into it, I want to introduce you to someone. This is Sable; she'll be observing tonight and then you'll all get to see a special performance from her later on."

I was feeling nervy as the class of students scrutinized me. Malik's tone implied that he possessed the professionalism of a qualified choreographer – which he was, I had recently come to know – and put me a little more at ease. Most of the students were teenagers – not yet out of school, even – and seemed eager to impress, but also to learn. I desperately hoped that my ballet routine – which had been rusty only a few days ago – was sharp enough now that they would enjoy it.

"For now," Malik continued. "Let's show her what we've been practicing lately, shall we? I'll give you a few minutes to warm up."

There were a few nervous giggles and a murmur of agreement as the students got up off of the floor and started stretching.

"Sorry I'm late, Malik-san!" suddenly the door bust open with a latecomer.

A perky brunette with gleaming eyes the colour of the ocean dumped her bag down, sprung over to Malik, planted a kiss on his cheek and then joined in with her fellow peers. I stared at her, a little awestruck that she would have the audacity to do that to her dance instructor.

"Glad you could join us, Anzu-chan." Malik muttered, turning a mild shade of crimson.

For some reason I frowned, and then I realised that I knew her. Anzu Mazaki. She went to school with us, and if I recalled correctly, she had always been a good dancer…but not as good as Malik and I. Though she had been on our dancing squad at school, she had never managed to secure herself a spot in any dance academies, as far as I knew. I vaguely wondered what she did with her time, now. I made a mental note to ask Malik about her later on.

After a five minute warm-up, the class – including Malik – assembled into formation. I was given the task to roll the music, and as soon as I was given the signal from Malik, I hit it. The song "She Ain't You" by Chris Brown started playing. I caught Malik's eyes a few times whilst watching the dancers, and felt somewhat privileged to be witnessing the ex-superstar in action. God knows how many hours he had practiced over the years to routines that fit with his songs, but it was widely known that Malik preferred to orchestrate his own routines rather than taking suggestions from a choreographer.

This, I assumed, was why he was so good a dancer, and why he was able to teach the art himself, now. While watching him it was hard not to appreciate his physical prowess, the strength and stamina straining in his muscles and sinews as he worked, and I could see where the fruit of his success had come from. Singing and dancing had not been something Malik had learnt. He had been _born_ to do this.

The dancers reached a part of the routine where they all appeared to be getting hot and heavy with each other intermittently, busting out rather raunchy moves such as crotch-grabbing, gyrating, pelvic thrusting and hair-flicking. They also included elements from other dance criteria, such as ballet, robotic techniques and even some disco.

Watching the male dancers throwing the women around effortlessly as if they were juggling batons, and spinning around holding them up in the air above them, brought back some strong memories for me. It was inspiring, and I was so impressed that I found myself wishing I was in amongst it all performing with them.

After the class had finished, Malik and I answered some questions from the students and had a general chat about what would be coming up next week. The spent students then filed out of the studio, either one by one or in pairs. I could tell who were friends, who had been coming to the class for some time, and who were the newcomers. Anzu, one of the last students to leave, came up to Malik and I before departing.

"I just wanted to say I thought your ballet demonstration was great, Sable." she said, somewhat insincerely, I thought. Then she added, "It lacked the real finesse of a true ballerina, but for someone who doesn't practice it regularly, you were still amazing."

My jaw nearly dropped open. "And how do you know I'm not a 'true ballerina'? Or that I don't practice regularly, in fact?"

"Um, didn't you break your ankle really badly a few years ago? I guess I just assumed you wouldn't be able to, after that." She cocked her head to the side.

"Perhaps you shouldn't assume, then." I deadpanned.

Anzu promptly went red and stuttered an apology, and I wondered what her game was. If she had been trying to insult me, her plan had backfired. Then again, she always _was_ a bit of a dolt at school. I tried not to take it personally. After all, the idea of _her_ becoming a ballerina was almost ludicrous.

"We'll be more focused on ballet next semester, Anzu." Malik stepped in, breaking the awkwardness. "For now, you should be concentrating on practicing our routine for the competition coming up."

Anzu nodded. "Of course, Malik-san. See you next week! Bye, Sable."

I stared at the opposite wall as she left, and finally exhaled the breath I had been holding in when I heard the door softly fall shut. Malik and I were eerily quiet for a few moments as I absorbed what had just happened.

"That was awkward," Malik finally said. "I'm sorry about that."

I shrugged, and muttered, "I never liked her at school, anyway. What's she even _doing_ in this class? She must be the oldest one here. I thought she would have moved on to do her own thing by now."

Malik chuckled. "She's been coming since I started up. Not really sure how she heard about it, but she was one of my first students. I don't think her dancing career took off as well as she'd hoped it would."

"She had a huge crush on you," I grinned, recalling that after many a failed attempt at wooing Yuugi, Anzu finally let it go and set her sights on Malik, instead.

Malik grimaced. "Mmm, still does, I think."

I snorted. "And?"

He looked at me. "'_And'_ what?" he laughed.

"I take it the feeling's not mutual, then?"

He shook his head. "Not my type."

"You have a type?" I laughed.

"Well, no, not really." He replied with a sly smile. "I'm just not interested in her."

I almost wanted to carry on with that choice of topic, but decided to leave it there, not really knowing where it might end up. It was really none of my business who Malik was or was not interested in, but it made me question why I even wanted to know that in the first place.

"What's this competition coming up?"

"It's the Tokyo Amateur Regionals," Malik replied. "My students have been practicing this routine for a couple of months now. It's in about a fortnight."

"Will you be in it, too?"

"No, I'm just the instructor."

"You really hate the limelight now, huh?"

"It's not really that. I'd rather just not cause a stir. You know how vicious the paparazzi can be."

"I don't, actually. But I can imagine."

"Not many people know I've come back from Egypt, yet, and I prefer to keep it that way."

"That's understandable."

I heard my cell phone chime from in my bag, indicating I had received a text message. It was from Ryou.

_Just shut up shop. Want 2 go 4 a bite 2 eat?_

"I gotta go," I said, getting up from the bench. "See you next week, I suppose?"

"Sure. Next week is my last lesson before the competition, so I'd appreciate your input."

I nodded, and for some absurd reason I felt fluttery inside at the thought of getting to see Malik again. "I'd like that."

Malik walked me to the studio door, and looked as if he was about to say something, but then decided against it. He smiled awkwardly instead and leant against the doorframe.

When he didn't say anything, I said, "Well, bye, then." Laughing nervously, and feeling like a complete idiot for some reason.

"Y-yeah. Thanks for coming, Sable."

"No problem. Bye, Malik."

"Hey,"

I turned around from the few steps I had taken. "Yeah?"

Through the crack in the door, he uttered, "Don't leave town."

I watched the door clink shut, and my whole body just about convulsed in a spasm of mysterious pleasure.

xXx

"What the bloody hell is _that_ supposed to mean?" Ryou seemed fairly confused.

I shrugged indifferently. "You tell me. You know him better than I do."

Ryou popped a dumpling in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Chinatown was bustling tonight, sitting as we were right in the midst of it at a popular dim-sum restaurant. I had recently landed Ryou a job at the bookstore after he had been sacked from his job as an accounts clerk, (due to the Spirit of the Ring – fed up with the way Ryou was being treated – finally telling his horrid boss in no uncertain terms to "suck it", according to Ryou) and usually worked the late shift. My boss wasn't exactly what you'd call a saint, but he sounded like one compared to Ryou's last boss. Needless to say, he was much happier now and we had subsequently grown a closer friendship because of it.

"I would be careful of him," Ryou finally said, after mulling over this latest development regarding Malik's most recent words to me. "He can be slippery, when he wants to be."

I raised an eyebrow. "'Slippery'? Enlighten me."

The white-haired boy snorted. "He knows how to get what he wants, you know." He pointed his chopstick at me for emphasis.

"Speaking from experience, are we?"

Ryou went a gorgeous shade of pink. I had always known he swung the other way, but it was only in the past year or so that he'd come out as openly gay. Malik's sexuality had always been a topic of hot debate, as well, and it was known that he and Ryou had had a 'thing' a few years ago in the last year of high school, before his rise to fame. Not that it had lasted, or was even meant to be serious, but I was intrigued. I felt like it was now a matter I could broach with ease since becoming closer with Ryou, and given my current predicament with the ex-popstar.

"Well, he charmed his way into _my_ pants pretty easily, you know." Ryou said with a hearty eye-roll.

I laughed out loud. "Ooh, is that resentment I detected there, Ryou?"

He glared. "No, don't be silly. It was a long time ago. All I'm saying is, be _careful_. Cryptic statements like that – especially coming from _him_ – often imply something."

"Well, obviously."

"Something…_sexual_!" Ryou leaned closer over the table as he said this in a loud whisper.

I exploded into laughter. "I don't think he likes me like that!"

"Then why would he ask you to 'not leave town'?!"

"I don't know?"

Ryou narrowed his eyes at me. I tried to eat my soba noodles like a normal person, but Ryou's silent scrutiny was putting me off.

"What?!"

"Do _you_ like _him_?"

"Why?" _Be cool. Be cool. Be cool._

"Because…well, I did, back in school. And looking back on it now, I think he picked up on that." Ryou replied thoughtfully.

"I think just about _everyone_ had a crush on Malik, at some point." I justified.

"But he played on it. I often got cryptic messages from him, like that, too. He's playing mind games with you _already_, Sable!"

Ryou had a tendency to immediately freak out over anything minor, so I took this in my stride. "It's too early to know what's going on, yet, Ryou."

"You didn't answer my question, anyway." He deadpanned.

"Umm…" I was really hoping to evade this.

"Oh, God." He said, going even paler than usual. "You _do_ like him, don't you?"

"A little. It's odd."

"Why odd?"

"Because I never liked him in school, but I do now."

"What do you plan on doing about this, then?"

"Probably nothing," I replied, because I hadn't really thought that far ahead. "As I said, I don't think he feels the same. When we dance together, it's just dancing, nothing more."

"As long as he's not leading you on, then."

"I don't know, Ryou. I haven't liked anyone since, like high school. Literally. It's quite tragic, actually."

Ryou looked at me quizzically. "Who did you like in high school?"

"Kaiba." I said meekly, cringing. Even just _admitting_ that I used to like the billionaire tosser sounded lame.

Ryou made a face. "Did anything ever happen?"

I dropped him a sarcastic glance that could have rivalled one of Kaiba's own. "What do _you_ think?"

"Huh. I always thought you liked Otogi-san."

I blushed and said nothing. This conversation was not leading to where I hoped it would. I was hoping to get some advice out of Ryou – which I sort of had, although not very much – and yet all we seemed to be talking about was my address book of who I may or may not have slept with.

"Oh my God! You had sex with him!"

My eyes bulged. "Ryou, not so loud!" I hushed.

"But you did!" he whispered. "Didn't you?"

"Like, ages ago!" I retorted. "Shut up. It's not even important anymore."

"You're right; we're getting off track here. Let's see, Malik. Hmmm." Ryou finished his dumplings and wiped his mouth daintily with a napkin. "Alright, here's what I think you should do."

I leaned closer, waiting for the miraculous words of wisdom to come forth.

"Proceed with caution."

xXx

Later that night, after dropping Ryou home, I pondered over his words. _Proceed with caution_. I guessed that that was a green light, and, frankly, even if he had said "_don't pass go!_", I probably would have done so, anyway.

Something about Malik really magnetized me to him, and I wondered if I was just another loopy, pathetic fan-girl falling for his charms. Then again, he wouldn't have just let _anyone_ into his studio to watch him teach his dance class.

It was impossible to sleep that night. It was hot and sticky in my apartment, and Malik's words continued to revolve inside my head. I went out onto my balcony and stared out at the lights of Domino through the hazy sky, wondering what Malik might be doing, if he wasn't asleep.

With a sudden urge, I decided to text him and ask him what his deal was before I plunged into the never-ending downward spiral of insanity. I went inside and picked up my phone, resolute on demanding an explanation.

But before I could even send him a message, there was already an unread text from _him_ on my phone. The very first text I had ever received from him. What could he want at this time of the night? Had I forgotten something? My heart randomly burst into thunderous palpitations inside my ribcage and I had to sit down, feeling weak.

Nervously, I opened my text messages inbox, and just about dropped my phone as my eyes skimmed over his message:

_I can't stop thinking about you. _

I read it over and over until I could close my eyes and envisage the words on the screen. My mind then started racing uncontrollably.

Should I reply? Can't really leave him hanging. Would he think I'm a psycho for still being up this late? But _he_ must still be up. He only sent me this text seven minutes ago. Bloody hell. What do I do? Fuck. I don't want to blow this. Okay. Something simple, not too blabbery. Don't want to give too much away. How the hell do you flirt via text? Would rather get this over with, than wait til tomorrow. I'll never be able to sleep, otherwise. Don't ask any questions, otherwise you'll keep your hopes up waiting for a text back. Nothing worse than no reply. Just a simple, straightforward reply will do. Right, I think I've got it.

I took a deep breath, and tapped into my phone:

_Well…that's a coincidence. :-)_

xXx


	6. Chapter 6

xXx

"Let's have some fun,"

"What kind?"

"You best pick," Malik smirked. "I could get into trouble."

I snorted. "Contemporary ballet, then."

"Ooh. Nice choice. Got a song in mind?"

"Bleeding Love – Leona Lewis."

Malik nodded in a 'not bad' sort of a way. "I can work with that. Give me a sec."

I tied on my pointes and began to stretch my cold muscles. It was winter and Malik hadn't had time to warm up the studio, being that we were the only two here at the moment. We had decided to meet here to have a private freestyle dance, just the two of us. Before long the song of my choice began to play.

Although we were freestyling, it didn't take long for us to get in sync with each other. The thing I liked the most about contemporary dance is that you were able to tell a story. This song was about a woman who was in love, despite what everyone else was telling her, that she shouldn't be – not with this man. And she tried. She tried to keep herself away from him, despite loving him so deeply. She knew it was wrong, but he was ultimately the only one who brought her happiness. Why should she try to please anyone else? I felt like I was spiralling into a similar situation, myself.

The sense of liberation as I leapt through the air with the aid of Malik's strong arms took me higher than any drug. I had forgotten how free I could feel while dancing. Some people listened to music to escape reality, some read a good book, some wrote poetry.

And some people danced.

The truth was, I hadn't been very happy for a long time. With no qualifications to my name except my high school diploma, working in a deadbeat job, I felt like I was drifting. After my injury, when I was told I would never dance the same again, I felt like the one last thing that made me happy had been stolen from me. Since meeting Malik, that had changed, and I felt like I was emerging from the cocoon once again. Whether I would make it to butterfly stage yet was unknown.

As the song ended, I felt very emotional and couldn't help but choke up. Malik, who was holding me extended out so I was crossed over his knee, could see that I was moved by our candid performance. We stayed in position for a while longer, just staring at each other, as tears slipped down my face. Gently, he lowered me to the ground and knelt over me.

"Malik," I whispered, wiping tears from my cheeks.

But no words needed to be said. With all the gallantry of an Egyptian prince, yet with the practised ease and sensuality of Casanova, Malik cupped one hand behind my head and the other around my back and kissed me ardently – slowly at first, and then with more vigour. I responded in kind, melting away on the tide that was my ardour for him. From this moment on, nothing would ever be the same again.

xXx

"So? Is there anything of particular importance you need to share with me today? Hm?"

"No, Ryou," I drawled. "There is nothing of particular importance I need to share with you today."

"Oh come on, Say-Say. It's been a week already. You _must_ have some gossip, surely!"

"I really don't," I said. Like hell I was going to tell him about the kiss. "Aside from a few more flirty texts, I haven't seen Malik in over a week."

"Because of the snow?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well, that's hardly an excuse." Ryou sniffed.

I shrugged. "He's a busy guy."

"But you've established that you like each other?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Well…yes. But, I mean, I haven't even seen him, let alone gone on a date or anything, yet. We haven't had the chance to actually talk about it…"

"But texting is more or less the same as conversing these days, isn't it?"

"It's not exactly intimate." I deadpanned, replacing a book on the shelf.

"What are you going to do, then?" Ryou asked, handing me another book to put back. "You have to see him at _some_ point."

"The snow should have cleared up in a few days. I guess I'll see him at the studio next week."

I was trying and failing at keeping the topic of my feelings toward Malik under wraps. Ryou was a notorious gasbag and the fact that I was potentially developing feelings for an old school flame of his – who happened to also be a formerly very famous _popstar_ – was more than Ryou could take. He had been harassing me all afternoon at work about my current state of affairs. Frankly, I wasn't even sure myself – when we had kissed, it had been wonderful, and I wanted more, but we hadn't been able to see each other in over a week due to work commitments and clashing schedules. Aside from a few slightly suggestive and flirtatious texts, nothing else had been said. This…_whatever_ you wanted to call it…was in its absolute infancy.

"It might not even come to anything," I muttered. "You know, I'm not exactly the best candidate for the whole dating thing. I don't even know why he likes me!"

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, I have _zero_ experience at relationships, for a start."

"What about Finn?"

"I would hardly class three months as a relationship."

"Okay…Otogi-san?"

"One night stand."

"What about Jay?"

"Ugh, _that_ ended in tragedy," I retorted, thinking of my most recent relationship that had crashed and burned due to racial and religious differences. "I don't have a great track record, Ry. At least you can say you've been in a relationship longer than six months."

Ryou rubbed his chin. "That doesn't matter. I doubt that Malik would be looking for a long-term thing, anyway."

I grimaced. "Why not?"

Ryou rolled his eyes heartily. "Because he's a _playboy_, that's why!"

I grunted. "Maybe he's gotten over that phase of his life."

Another hearty eye-roll came my way. "A leopard doesn't change his spots, you know."

I sighed. "Yeah, well, that's why I'm going into this with no expectations. That way I can't be let down if things go awry. 'Expect nothing'. It's a great motto to go by."

"A little cynical, but, you're right. Clever girl." Ryou agreed. "I don't want that sexy bastard hurting you." He added.

"He won't; I'll make sure of it." I replied with an air of dignity.

"Hmm, and speak of the devil!"

As if by magic, the shop door flew open, followed by a gust of icy, snowy air, and Malik Ishtar blew in. Rugged up from head to toe in warm winter garb couldn't hide the fact that he looked just like the sexy superstar he really was. His platinum blonde locks were poking out from beneath a grey woollen beanie, and everything from there down was obviously designer wear, inclusive of a pair of new Gucci monogram-patterned high-topped kicks. I felt myself go slightly weak and nauseous at this unexpected visitor. It wasn't long before he spotted me in between the bookshelves and started toward me. Ryou quickly made himself scarce.

"Hey, Sable," he said, smiling that unnaturally white, heartbreaking smile at me.

"Hey," I breathed. Damn it, this was impossible. Every nerve ending and blood vessel in my body felt like it had just dilated.

"Sorry for just showing up like this; I probably should have given you some warning." He chuckled. "But I was in the neighbourhood, so…"

"It's fine," I dismissed, thinking that there was no way he would be 'just in the neighbourhood'. This wasn't really a part of town that Malik would ever frequent, especially if he wanted to continue to maintain a low profile – there were far too many people. A few customers in the café had noticed him when he had walked in and I heard a couple of sly whispers here and there.

"When do you finish your shift?"

"At five," I replied. Damn it being only 3.30pm! I felt my hands trembling and my heart thundering. It was so ridiculous. I should have been more prepared than this, but somehow I felt like a coquettish giggling schoolgirl who had just seen her crush. Then again…I guess that wasn't too far from the truth.

"Why don't I come back then and pick you up? Let me buy you dinner," he smiled warmly and I knew right then and there that there was no way in hell I could refuse.

"A-alright," I stammered.

"Great, I'll see you later then."

As if he was just an apparition that had appeared in my imagination, Malik vanished and once again it was just Ryou and I standing among the bookshelves.

xXx

The following hour and a half couldn't have passed more slowly. I felt like I was watching the clock, and every time I looked up, only two minutes had passed, when it felt like hours. Finally, when five o'clock rolled around, I said my goodbyes to Ryou and went and left the premises. Parked across the road was a sleek silver Aston Martin…and Malik Ishtar was sitting behind the wheel. I gulped in a breath of icy air and blinked a few times to be sure my eyes weren't deceiving me. When I had concurred that yes, it actually _was_ Malik sitting in a half a million dollar sports car, I trudged my way over the snow toward him.

"Hello again," he smiled, winding the window down.

"This is _yours_?" I blurted out, gesturing to the vehicle at large.

He nodded. "Sure it is," he replied. "Hop in."

So I did. It was an absolutely beautiful machine – inside and out – but not as much as its owner. I could barely breathe, let alone speak, when Malik leant over and brushed my ear with his lips.

"It's good to see you," he said, in a rather husky tone that made me feel slightly faint.

"It's good to see you, too." I replied, and I _was_ genuinely pleased to see him after having not for a week.

"Hungry?"

I wasn't, but it would have been awkward if I'd said no. "Sure,"

"What do you feel like?"

"Um…sushi?" it was my default, go-to snack when I couldn't think of anything else, and in this particular moment my mind was drawing a blank on most things, anyway.

Malik smiled and pressed the ignition. The engine purred into life. "Sushi it is."

xXx


End file.
